Lion
by Alias addict
Summary: Sydney/Vaughn, angst, almost-romance, or romance, who knows. And I suck at summaries, so you’ll just have to wait and find out.
1. Lion Part 1

Lion  
  
Author-Alias_addict  
  
Feedback- But of course  
  
Distribution: Whatever, just tell me where I can see it  
  
Disclaimer-Nothings mine, It's JJs, Touchstone, Bad Robot, yadda yadda  
  
Summary- Sydney/Vaughn, angst, almost-romance, or romance, who knows. And I suck at summaries, so you'll just have to wait and find out.  
  
Rating- Most likely PG.  
  
Author's Note: This fic is based on the poem To The Lion by Diane Wakoski, and each beginning and some of the ends of the sections have quotations from it.  
  
Part One:  
  
//I am the girl who visits the sun,  
  
east of destiny and west of destruction.  
  
Who comes in the rain to remind you of tomorrow  
  
and the silken trees//  
  
He was late. He was never late before, always there to open the rusty gate into her second life. But here he was, half an hour after the traditional call was made, which, in itself, was a lie, but then again so was her life, so she didn't sweat it. It was just strange for him to be late, to come in second. Their eyes met and he immediately shifted his gaze; she did not. He could feel her eyes on him, pounding into his skull and trying to find the reason. One that he would not so generously give unless she asked for it, which she would not. He turned to face her again, and she studied his eyes. But they would give her no more, for they were distant, far-away. She longed to find out where he was, but kept silent, perched beside a small crate in the corner of the dusty warehouse.  
  
"How was Paris?"  
  
"Fine." Now it was his turn to study her eyes. The operation had not run smoothly, and she had hospital bills to prove it, along with a forming scar across the spine of her back. He could see the tip of it at the top of her sky blue tank top, and bottom at the break before her jeans. What was most likely worse was the emotional scar. Visible in her eyes if you were searching. He envied anyone who could.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
She shook her head. In her trembling hand she held a small slip of paper as white as her death-gripped face. He knew what it was. The funeral invitation.  
  
"Sydney?" She turned her head away from his face, but he could see the silvery tears shining as they crawled down her face. He walked over and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. They stood like that for a few long seconds, until she turned to him, her eyes glistening.  
  
"He's gone."  
  
It was all she said, all she had to say. He wrapped his arms around her as she cried on his shoulder until no tears were left, simply emotion, hanging in the air, motionless.  
  
"He's gone."  
  
He strained to find something to say, something that he could tell her, something, anything. Instead, they just simply stood like that, seconds dripping into minutes, feeding on each other's emotions. Finally, she slipped away and paced to the other side of the warehouse, then turned and walked half the way back, stopping to lean on the chain fence for support. He walked over and stood in front of her, daring her to speak, daring her to look at him. Wanting her to. She looked up but avoided his eyes, gazing into the darkness.  
  
"I loved him, Vaughn. He was like my father. He didn't even do anything." Slowly she looked up at him. He longed to stoke her hair and kiss her, to lie and say everything would be alright. But he couldn't, he knew this, and so he did none of these. Instead, he stared at the ground and waited for words to form on his tongue.  
  
"What happened?" He knew it was too hard a question, to relate back to the story, relieve the memory play by play. She already had enough bad memories, and he felt bad asking her to play back another one. However, she wiped her eyes with her hands and reluctantly told him the story.  
  
"The mission was running smoothly; I was just about to get into the van and drive away when someone came up from behind me. He gagged and blindfolded me. By the time the blindfold was off I was in a dark room lit by one window in the very corner of the room, but even that was barred, so the light was streaky. They had Dixon. They kept asking us why we were here, and who had sent us. Dixon refused to answer. They finally got so mad that they...they..." She broke down again, this time refusing the warmth of his arms although it was all she wanted. She composed herself the best she could and continued, slowly. "They...smashed bottles on his skin and cut him. They told me they were killing him, torturing him for not answering. They made me watch it... I tried to stop them, they hit me," she motioned to the cuts on her arms. "They cut off his hand, slowly slit part of his throat, keeping enough for him to live, jammed glass in his skin...they made me watch, they made me, his last words were 'there's always tomorrow, Syd, there's always another day.' Then they shot him in the back, and threw him in the corner to die, slowly and painfully. Then they cut my skin with the knife, but it didn't hurt, they had already killed me, I had already felt the pain. They told me 'Go back and play with your dolls, slut, and tell whoever you're working for not to try and mess with us.' Then they dragged me to the door, right past Dixon, and I saw him, his eyes, his eyes, they'll haunt me..." She stopped, she had to. She couldn't go on. Her breath came in short gasps, her cheeks flooded with memory. She didn't feel his embrace, she couldn't feel anything, just pain. "They wouldn't take me, they wouldn't kill me, Vaughn, they wouldn't. I asked them to, they wouldn't. I can't forget. I can't forget the sound, his eyes...and then tomorrow at his funeral no one will know what he did, how brave he was, he didn't even yell, just winced and talked to me. Told me to tell his wife he loved her. Vaughn...Vaughn..." She leaned into him, her full weight on his chest, unable to support herself. She cried again, gray tears of anger. Unaware of his tears, his tears flowing into her hair. Unaware he had, too, seen this form of murder, by the hands of her own mother.  
  
"My father, too," He said at last. She pulled her head away for a minute, stared at him.  
  
"I'm so sorry." The tears increased; their drops on the concrete floor resembled the raindrops on the pavement outside. He stroked her hair.  
  
"It'll be alright," he lied. She knew it was a lie, but she forced herself to believe him. She nodded.  
  
"There's always tomorrow." 


	2. Lion Part 2

Part Two:  
  
//I am the girl broken out of stone  
  
You have broken me from stone//  
  
She drove back still depressed but somewhat enlightened. Francie noticed it when she entered the room.  
  
"You're looking a lot better then you were a couple of hours ago."  
  
She smiled sweetly and walked away, not wanting the moment to be driven out of her head by endless questioning. Her life had been nothing, she remembered, after she had seen him in the bathtub, his eyes expressing the shock of his last few moments. She had loved him so much. She still did. Then she had found out she had been deceived by the only other person she trusted; her father. Her life had been crumbled, torn to shreds and thrown to drift away in the passing breeze. Then she had gone to the CIA to seek refuge, maybe shelter, or some twisted form of the truth. That was where she had met him. Yes, she admitted to herself, he brightened up your life. Her day improved if she had a meeting with him, just seeing a glimpse of him was enough to get her through the dragging hours of the day. He was like a food; she thrived on him, he kept her alive.  
  
"If only you knew..." She whispered into the air, her only response being the faint noise of the television from another room. In truth, she told herself, he had created her; or, no, he broke her out of her mold of depression and death, her constant thoughts of suicide and murder, her life of a children's block structure, constantly being knocked down. He had re- built her block tower, he had saved her. And yet he was so innocent; she made it seemed he was just another person, while in truth he was her savior, the one to extend a hand and pull her from her pit of darkness. She wondered what he would do if he knew, if he knew he was the one, if he knew he was Neo, here to save the world from lies and destruction. But in this case, he was saving her from her hole of deception and death, teaching her that the world was just a lie, telling her the truth. And then she swore to truth, while lying to herself about him, her angel. Her guardian angel, as she had once said, but she hadn't been joking, in the case where he probably thought she was. But this was why she had wanted a meeting in the first place, to tell him the truth and then hide away from it, but when she had the chance she couldn't. She couldn't bear to see his eyes. She had seen Danny's, a death because of the truth, because of her love. She had loved Dixion like a father; now he was gone, and who's shoulder did she go cry on? But she knew soon she would have to push that shoulder away; she refused to let him die, too, and there were only two ways to do this, neither of which she fancied. She could stop loving him, but she knew this in itself was impossible. She had tried before and ended up back in his arms; she couldn't avoid them, nor did she want to, and so she was forced to take the second option, not that it was any better. She would have to leave him. It was easy enough in speech; she'd tell him the reason, walk away, and request a new handler. But when she came face to face with him, it was too hard. How could she kill him if he had brought her back from the dead? She knew she couldn't, rather that she had to. She told herself that she wasn't killing him, rather that she was saving him, saving him from the fate that seemed bound to anyone who she loved. She would find someone else, someone to sweep her off her feet and try to take her mind away from him, a nearly impossible task, but she knew she had to try. She had thought she could never love anyone like she had loved Danny, but that had proved untrue, so perhaps if could happen again. But she doubted she would ever be in love again, she promised herself this, but it was a promise easily carried out since she knew she was still in love with him and would be until another miracle bringer came and whisked her away on his white horse. She slowly abandoned her thoughts, perhaps practicing for the real thing. No, she again told herself. I am saving him. There is a difference. But inside she knew that in reality there most likely was not, and this is what scared her most; that she would leave him and it would all be in vain. She remembered a line from a movie, stating that 'sometimes we love someone so much that we're immune to it, because if we actually felt how much we loved them we would explode from all the love.' This, however, did not apply to her, because she could feel it, and it killed her, knowing she would have to leave him. Every time she saw him, every time she heard his voice, every hug, every moment she felt it, and this prevented her from going through with her course of action. So each day she valued every second like it was gold; she could feel the hesitant silence in the air, the silence of something gone wrong, or something to come that would destroy everything. She was destroying this, she was killing herself, but she doing it to save him. She would die without him, but she would die if he was killed. She rather that he be alive then him gone and haven taken her heart and soul with him. So she resolved to tell him, to give him a parting gift, and then leave with one last look in his eyes. That was her plan. She would stick to it, or, at least she would try. One last glimpse, one last sight of his beautiful face and she was sure she would last a little while. Just one more glimpse...  
  
She went over to the phone and punched in ten numbers, tears forming at the banks of her eyes.  
  
"Joey's Pizza?"  
  
  
  
//Lion, brush away the tears// 


	3. Lion Part 3

Part Three:  
  
//I am the girl you will never forget  
  
because forgetting me is forgetting your own name//  
  
She walked in slowly, as if taking her time, each footfall echoing the empty space in his heart. There was something wrong about her steps; he could sense it. They were heavy, as if she was dragging herself to do a deed she never wanted to do. Which made him wonder, why was she here? And why was he here? It was hours after their debriefing, and unless there was something more she had to say, he was totally clueless. Which, he reminded himself, wasn't too unordinary in itself, for more then once he had been shut out completely from her feelings. He wasn't sure about her, but he had an instinct.... 'I have an instinct about you." He had known it was the lamest thing in the world to say to your new agent, but it was better then saying 'I have just fallen completely and hopelessly in love with you.' So he waited while she approached him, breathing to the beat of her feet on the dusty concrete. Her face was tilted down, as if a nun praying or a child after they just broke a window, but in her case the expression on her face seemed to be one of deep concentration and determination. Which again brought him up with the question: What was he doing here? He figured soon enough he would find out, so he stayed calm and leaned nonchaentaly on the desk that was behind him, counting the steps until she would be in front of him and addressing the matter at hand, whatever it turned out to be. One, two, three, four, each heavier then the last, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, like the twelve hours on a clock. Then, thirteen. Lucky thirteen. He put this out of his head and waited for her to speak.  
  
"I'm sorry this is so late. I had to get it over with."  
  
He shrugged, with a quiet "It's fine." His eyes were on the floor, but he could sense her shivering, or maybe shaking. He involuntarily took off his jacket and handed it to her, glancing up as he did so, only to catch a glance of her wet eyes and sad expression. She faltered for a minute, then softly pushed it away and sat down on the desk beside him. He took it back, confused, but open. Waiting for her to speak.  
  
"You're probably wondering why I called this meeting."  
  
This went without speaking, so he sat in silence, listening to the fading rain drops from that afternoon drum on the warehouse roof.  
  
"I'm...I'm requesting a new handler."  
  
This caught him by surprise, and he turned his head over to face her, tell her something, anything, to make her change her mind. To beg her not to shred his heart into a thousand pieces by confirming the words his ears had just heard.  
  
"What?" It was harsher then he had meant it, but for him this was serious.  
  
"Just...let me explain." He did so, and turned his body to face her, forcing her to either look at him or the ground. She switched off.  
  
"I must have born with some kind of...some kind of curse. When...when I was with Danny-" She paused for a minute, tears brimming. "When I was with Danny, I felt like my life had a purpose, and that I was loved by someone, and that was all that mattered to me. When I got recruited into Sd- 6, I wanted some sort of excitement. I had no idea what I was getting into. After a while, it became too much, so I told Danny. Then Sd-6 had him killed. I loved him so much...I thought I would never get over it, and I haven't. After I learned the truth, my life's purpose was to avenge Danny's death and take down Sd-6, especially Sloane. I also was very alone during these times; my father wasn't being a father at all, and my only close friends were Francie and Will. Then I became to see Dixion as a fatherly figure, and I loved him like he was my father; he did a much better job then my biological father ever had. Then when he died...it was like my family was lost, my mother, my father, my fiancé. Sd-6 has ruined my life, the whole trade business has. Not only did it kill my family, but also my friendship with Francie and Will, being away so much and having to hide the truth from them. I didn't want them to die, too, I loved them too much, but in that case it was brotherly and sisterly love. They were the only family I had left. I was sure that I would never find anyone to fill these precious gaps in my life, that I would never love anyone like I had loved Danny." She stopped now, shaking compulsively. She bit her lip, then took a breath. "I was wrong." She again paused, looking for some sort of reaction from him. He just stood there, overwhelmed and not able to process all the information that was being thrown at him like boots at a cat singing on a fence. She shook her head, then stared out at the blackness opposite of where he was standing.  
  
"Don't you understand?" She whispered, her voice barely audible. She then turned around sharply, looking him straight in the face. He immediately looked down; by now it was involuntary; he was custom to it.  
  
"Look at me." She demanded. He did so , slowly bringing his head up and digesting her eyes. The fire sprung within them, a fire he had seen few times before, but now it was dying, smoldering, turning into ash. By now she was crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks like raindrops, reminding him of the steady rythem pounding on the roof. He looked away.  
  
"Look at me!" She cried out, bringing more tears, tears that broke his heart. He refused her request. Trembling hands gripped his face, pulled it up with a jerk until it hovered inches away from her own. He could tell she was seconds away from falling into his arms, but seconds passed and she stayed tall. The tears poured down her face, drenching her in despair. She stroked his cheek and cried harder, pulling her face closer to his. He was, by now, beginning to understand, beginning to see the whole picture. Before it was just a thumbnail; he was wrapped up in his own little world. She had popped the bubble and broughten him to reality and he could finally see the light. But now he tried to block it, he could read the writing on the wall and he didn't want to hear the words it was telling him. Her face was close to him, too close invading his privacy, the privacy he wants to disappear, but he knows that soon it will, so he allows it, allows himself one last moment. Her lips are on his, hot, fiery, the opposite of her shaking body. He responds to it, openly excepting the kiss as if he had a choice, embracing it, allowing himself to be lifted to some sort of heaven that he could never have dreamed of, better then dreams, better then heaven. Maybe this was hell then, having this perfect moment as the world around him shatters like glass; he expects when he comes back to reality that he will find it's gone, she's gone, which means his life is gone, also. It seems the kiss lasts only precious seconds, her parting gift, amazing and cruel at the same time. Leaving him with desire. In reality it lasts about a minute, a procrastinated goodbye. When his eyes open, he finds tears on his cheeks, and he wonders if they are hers or his. She is still inches away from his face; he waits for something that will not be repeated. Instead, he finds words rolling off her tongue, much like the tears streaming down her face.  
  
"I'm saving you, Vaughn. Don't you see? I can't lose you, too."  
  
He replies with the only words that invade his brain. "You're losing me now, Sydney. You're killing me. I'd rather die in your arms then live a life without you."  
  
She cries even harder, shaking compulsively. Then she runs her fingers through his hair, the tears now cascading now her face. She looks into his eyes; that forbidden haven of green in which she has never dared enter. She sucks it in, remembers it; it will be what she has to live by. Then she turns around and leaves, just walks away, not turning back.  
  
"Sydney." He yells behind her. "Sydney. Sydney!" Each time the name gets louder, he watches her until she disappears into the rain. Then he cries out her name, although she by now can not hear. He yells it, and with each holler more tears come, until he himself has drenched cheeks and goes to sit down by his desk. There he find a scrap of paper. At first he regards it as nothing; the world is nothing now, he doesn't care. Then he sees a name.  
  
Sydney  
  
He picks it up and begins reading, word by word, tear by tear, shred by shred.  
  
Vaughn-  
  
I don't know how I'll ever get through this, over this. You were my life, my savior, my guardian angel. You were my heaven, my hell. Everyone I love dies, it's this ghost that seems to haunt me. I couldn't live with your death; if you died, my soul would be gone; my heart. So I have to leave you, it seems so simple. After Danny I thought I would never love anybody, be in love with anybody. I was wrong. I love you, god damnit, and I can't let that kill you. Wherever I go, I will never love anybody, never be in love with anybody; my heart is wherever you are, you hold it captive. I will always be in love with you, it doesn't matter what I try and do or who I meet; my heart is always with my guardian angel, and I will never forget you, Michael, never. I can't.  
  
Sydney  
  
The ink was blotched with tear stains; were they from her or him. He walked out of the warehouse, allowing the rain to beat out on him.  
  
"I'll never forget you, Sydney." He whispered into the cold night. "Never." 


End file.
